Keep
by MintIceTea
Summary: The Beast has taken Belle back to his lair. And her curiosity is going to get her into trouble one way or another. Ivelle. [Sequel to The Beast in the Darkness/Hungering]
1. Arrival

Belle has never traveled anywhere by magic before. The sensation is almost painful, she's tearing apart and sewn back together in an instant. Like a needle pricks all over. It overwhelms her. The moment the world stops spinning she forfeits her breakfast to the grass. Her captor stands above her as she retches, but makes no move towards her otherwise. 

"Poor love," he purrs with sadistic sympathy. Belle attempts to recover herself, staying on her hands and knees as the nausea abates. When she lifts her head to take a breath he speaks again. "You'll feel better after a meal and some rest."

Belle shakes her head, she feels fragile as she stands. She looks around, taking in where they had landed. It is an overgrown yard leading to an ancient keep. It looks habitable, but that thought is being generous. Wilderness clings with to whatever it can keep a hold of.

Almost without realizing it, Belle asks him where they are. She didn't mean to speak. The question is pointless anyway, the answer doesn't matter. This keep is his property without a doubt. As she is now.

He seems as surprised by the question as she was to speak it. But he answers anyway. A small smile pulling at his lips. "We're on the edges of the kingdoms, in No Man's Land. I live under no one's rule but my own. This place was abandoned for years before I came across it. I think it will be perfect for a honeymoon, my lovely." He reaches for her hand, laughing when she pulls away, near stumbling as she does so. "I'll draw you a bath. Are you sure you aren't hungry?" 

"I am not." She shudders. The type of meals he partook of were still fresh in her mind. The stench of the slaughter still haunts her. The scent a ghost, stalking her beneath the smell of pine.

"Suit yourself." He waves his hand and Belle once again finds herself transported. This time she is able to keep the contents of her stomach down. The room she is in now is a dark, but clean, bathing chamber. She's alone, which she is thankful for, and that gives her the confidence to take in her surroundings at her pace.

Old stone walls tell her it is the inside of the keep. But it's more modern than she would've expected from the outside of the building. There is a deep tub along one wall that is full of clear, steaming water. Exploring the room rewards her with a wardrobe behind a divider. It holds a collection of simple dresses, roughly her size, and she pulls one out. She decides that no matter what the night may bring, she would rather face it clean. Her golden gown smells of bile and blood. Abandoning the soiled fabric in a corner, she steps into the tub.

As uncomfortable as she is in this place, the hot water soothes her somewhat. She goes through the motions of bathing without much conscious thought. The water turns dirty red before long, but she stays in until the warmth fades completely. The dress she chose to pull on afterwards is a pale pink, soft to the touch. Chosen because it covered her from wrist to ankle, buttoned up to under her chin. She does not dare to imagine what her captor has in mind for her, but she is not going to make it easy for him.

Dressed, she opens the door and steps out into a dark hallway. There are a few sconces along the walls, leading in both directions. To her left there is a stairwell that curves upwards and down, the stone steps disappearing into shadows. 

The opposite direction is well lit. Warm candlelight beckoning her towards an open door at the other end of the hall. Belle turns towards the stairwell, refusing the wordless invitation of light. In her obstinacy, she runs into her captor before she sees him. He hums, laying his hands on her shoulders to keep her stumbling back.

"You look good enough to eat, my dear."

She stares at him in silent defiance, head held high.

"I jest." He smiles and she suppresses a shudder. He lets her step back, and pats his stomach. "I won't need to hunt for at least a week." He pulls the door to the stairway closed behind him and the clicking of the lock echoes in the hall. Her brow furrows and he looks at her as if he is reading her thoughts.

"You can explore the rest tomorrow, content yourself with this floor for now. Now if you'll excuse me, I will be taking my turn." He slips around her, entering the washroom and taking the key with him. Belle lets out a relieved breath as the door shuts behind him, leaving her alone in the hall once more.

Stubborn, Belle tries the door to the stairwell, knowing full well that it won't open. With a sigh, she turns to the four other doors in the hall. One is the bathing chamber, she resolves to avoid. Trying the next nearest door reveals a dark room. It must've been storage at one point – there isn't a fireplace. One narrow window at the far end is open and Belle rushes to look out.

The last rays of run are visible above the trees, framed by the vines that cling to the building. Belle sees the yard that they arrived in, overgrown and fading into thick woods. Trees rise high around the property. Shielding it better than the crumbling walls of stone. Even a couple stories above the ground she can't see more than trees. It makes her uneasy. The sounds of the nocturnal forest beginning to stir, so much different than the sounds of the sea she grew up with. The lack of the constant sound of waves is unsettling. She leaves the window to continue investigating.

The other door in the hall refuses to open, cutting her exploration short. It leaves Belle with two options. Either she stays in the hall until he comes for her, or to enter the open door at the end of the hall. It isn't much of a choice, and Belle succumbs to the tempting warmth the flickering light offers.

It turns out to be a bedroom, a fireplace across from the bed illuminates the room. The bed itself is huge, dark and heavy curtains tied back at the posts. There are two chairs by the fireplace, a table between them, a cozy sight despite the situation. There is a window on the far wall, showing the same view of the forest through a pane of glass. 

"This is the only room beside the kitchen I've completed, I'm afraid." Belle jumps when he speaks from the doorway behind her. He comes to stand beside her at the window. "Lovely view, isn't it? I'll show you the tower tomorrow you can see the mountains from that side." He turns, holding out his arm for her to take. She doesn't, and he clenches his hand before dropping it. "Ah, well, you'll be sleeping here with me – I'll give you the grand tour tomorrow."

Belle does not argue with his proclamation, though she wants to. He does not trust her, and Belle knows her options are to stay within his sight. Or else he will find some way to secure her.

It would not surprise her if he chooses to lock her in a dungeon instead.

But he does sleep beside her that night. She closes her eyes tight, tensing, expecting him to grab at her at any moment. He doesn't touch her once. Hardly even moves once his head hits the pillow. Belle thinks about getting up, but the fire has burned low. Fear and chill keep her beneath the blanket. The door is locked as well, she had watched him close it with his magic. So she stays as still as she can. He's a beast that looks like a man, and Belle doesn't forget that, men can be monsters as well.

She watches him through the night, with the soft light of the dying fire illuminating. His face is different asleep. It's not the manic, blood-drenched smile that he had given her first. Or the smug and self-assured looks as he watched her enter the keep.

In slumber his brow furrows, giving him a distressed look. He can almost be considered handsome, if not for the memories of his horrid actions. She stares at him, her mind whirling, until his rhythmic breathing finally lulls her into a sleep of her own.

Belle wakes with a start, sunlight hitting her across the face as the curtains open. Blinking, she sees him by the window. She's more surprised to see him clean and groomed than able to stand in the light. Though both go against all she had seen of him so far. A blood-stained creature of darkness. It doesn't fit the man she sees at the window. In a dressing gown, with the sun highlighting his hair he wasn't the beast she had seen destroying her home.

She sits up, glad she slept in the simple dress she had donned yesterday. A dressing gown in pale blue lay across her feet. She places it around her shoulders without drawing attention to the gift by speaking. He bows to her, a quick, polite bend at the waist. She tries to find mocking in his movement, but can't and it disturbs her. 

"Good morning, Belle." He gestures to the chairs by the fire. A tray sits on the table between them with food. Belle lowers herself into one of the chairs, watching as he does the same opposite her. The tray holds a plate of toasted bread, tea, and a bowl of dried fruits. "Your breakfast, my dear. My stores are rather low on fruits and grains, but I assumed that's all you would eat."

His knowing smile makes her tense.

"I do realize that we haven't spoken about…anything, really." He laughs. "You've barely spoken to me at all, my dear." He reaches for his cup of tea.

"What should I call you?" 

He blinks at that, surprised. His tea hovers just inches from his lips. "My name, for one." 

"As you wish, Beast." 

She's aware of him staring at her as she eats, but she ignores it. That's the only name she knows him by, and it has suited him until now.

"My name…is Ives." He sits back, contemplating her. 

"Should I call you master as well?" She asks. 

He laughs, spilling his tea as he does so. Belle is surprised to find herself hiding a smile behind her own tea cup. Watching as he tries to mop up the forming stain on his shirt.

"You aren't required to, love, unless you're trying to earn my favor." He gathers himself, smirk reappearing, as he purrs. "You are here as a companion, not a servant."

"Hmm." Belle tries to stay wary, but the more he speaks he seems less like a monster and more of a courtly flirt. More annoying than frightening, and something familiar. "What do you expect from me as a companion?"

"Conversation, first of all." He stands. "It's rather lonely out here. Assist me in in the upkeep of this place, if it pleases you." He turns to stand in front of her, his legs almost touch her knees where she sits. "You may do whatever you like as long as you follow my rules." 

"Yes?"

"You will be loyal to me, try to kill me if you'd like – but you will not assist others in doing so." He shrugs. "I would rather they come up with their own plans." 

"Alright." She nods in concession. "What else?"

"Hm, I won't forbid you from trying to run away, I will catch you. Or if you kill yourself, just know I will eat you afterwards." She draws back and he laughs. 

"I will not." She retorts, unsettled but determined. She will not give him the satisfaction of giving up.

"I know, you're much too clever, aren't you?" He seems proud, and it only fuels Belle's stubborn desire to survive here. "Anyway, the only real rule I have for you is that you don't ever enter the cellar."

"Why?"

"Because it's forbidden." His smile is no longer charming, but full threatening, power. He bends down, hands on the armrests of her chair, pinning her in, Belle freezes under his gaze, like a rabbit. The memories of the blood-soaked halls of her home assault her. Her heart beats wildly and his eyes dart down to her chest as if he can hear it. He probably can, Belle realizes, remembering that despite their civil morning, he's a monster. Not a man.

"I'll leave you to finish your breakfast." He stands, and she flinches. "Come join me in the tower after if you'd like, if not I'll bring you another meal later."

Only when Belle is alone and his footsteps fade into silence do the tears fall.


	2. Exploration

Belle eventually dries her tears on the sleeve of her gifted dressing gown. She sighs in frustration at herself. She resolves not to cry again, relived that her tears hadn't happened in front of the beast.

Ives, he said his name was.

She dresses herself, pinning her hair back and up blindly, feeling as if she prepares for battle. She already knows that she is going to join him in his tower, she won't sit here and fade away in silence waiting for him. Her shoes are blood stained from the day before, but she finds nothing more in the wardrobe than the dresses she found yesterday. He dresses so finely, Belle is certain that it won't be long before he begins to dictate her wardrobe. She can't help but think that she won't miss the gowns of court life.

Standing at the dark stairs she follows the lighted sconces upwards. Downwards the lights have been snuffed, as if she isn't smart enough to deduce that the tower is _up_ not _down_.

She pauses at every window as she climbs the stairs, though the view of the thick trees doesn't change much. Beginning to feel trapped but the encroaching forest, she hurries up the last few floors, to the wooden door at the top. It's opened slightly, but still creaks when she presses against it.

"Ah, there you are, my lovely."

It takes her a moment to locate him amongst all the crates and furniture. But she carefully picks her way over to where he stands at the window. "Oh."

Finally, she sees more than thick trees. This high, she sees mountains – about a day's journey away. But that's closer than she's ever been. "Which mountain range is this?"

He doesn't answer, and when Belle glances towards him he seems surprised. "Ah. Depends on what direction you're coming from. The name that is. Most call them the Blue Range, or a similar descriptive. But for those fleeing Regina's reign, they're called Salvation."

"Are…are we near Queen Regina's kingdom?" The stories of the brutality that follows the queen are often used in comparison to the terror of the Beast himself.

He hums. "Closer than your lands are, but don't fear. Regina never visits. She seems uneasy around me, though I can't imagine why." His grin assures Belle that he knows exactly what unnerves the queen and does it often.

Belle turns back to the window, a soft breeze carrying the scent of pine wafts through and twists the loose strands of her hair.

"What do you do to amuse yourself?" Ives asks. She looks up at him, questioningly. He shrugs. "I admit that the lifestyles of the rich and royal don't interest me. I am unfamiliar with what ladies of status do."

She ponders his question. Wondering if his inquiry was malicious; if she admits her hobbies would he forbid her from them? She finally ventures that ladies are expected to socialize with other during most of their time.

He shakes his head. "Not an option. Unless you desire to entertain the dark things in the woods, which recommend, monster as I am." His voice was hard and despite her curiosity she swallows back her question. She eyes the forest beneath them with new trepidation.

"Do you enjoy sewing?" Ives attempts.

"I don't…not enjoy it." Belle responds, afraid to seem to eager about anything.

"I only ask because I won't be able to entertain you at all hours." Ives moves back through the crates, stooping every now and then to pry a lid off and peer inside. It takes a few boxes but he finds what he's searches for. He waves a book at her to take, and she doesn't hesitate. Stroking the leather cover free of dust. "I'm considering turning one of the empty rooms into a study of sorts." He hands her book after book until her arms are full, then begins loading his own arms. Wordlessly he leads her back down the stairs, to the landing where the bedchamber is. The door that was locked the night before swings open before them, revealing walls of empty shelves.

There's a desk, so weighted down with books that Belle is sure it's going to cave in. Ives adds their burden to the mountain.

"If you like you may sort the books. Do not read any aloud though unless you are prepared to deal with the consequences of magic."

"I'm not stupid." Belle responds before she can think better of it, tensing in preparation for his reply.

"…no, you aren't." He agrees, a smile tugging at his lips. He surveys the room, the thick layer of dust on the shelves, the stack of books, and the near silent scurry of a rat in the corner. A wave of his hand and the rodent disappears in a cloud of smoke, regulated to deep in the woods. "I did promise you a tour if you're agreeable."

"Yes."

The keep is small, three stories and the tower. The bedroom and library are on the third floor, beneath is the entry and the dining hall with a gigantic fireplace. At that level the ground dips back, granting access to the keep on the second flood from the courtyard, but having the kitchens and storage below. He shows her the wilted and wild garden.

And the door that she's never to open. The heavy metal door, even Belle can tell, is warded with magic. He passes by it quickly, which Belle is relieved by, as the hall that houses it is cold and makes her skin crawl.

They take lunch in the kitchen, Belle studiously ignoring his offer of smoked meat as she slices bread for herself. To her surprise they end up conversing easily about his plans for the keep. He tells her he used magic to repair the worst of the damage, arranging the floor plan to convenience him. But the rest of the work would require more manual labor.

"Why don't you use magic for the rest of it?" She asks, thinking of the crates in the tower that would need to be moved.

"I need something to occupy my time between hunts." He says, gesturing towards his meal. Belle makes an involuntary face which he chuckles at.

"If you'd like me to assist you, may I work on the garden as well as the library?"

He considers her offer, and agrees, and it isn't until afterwards Belle realizes how casually they made plans for the space. Agreeing to work on it in the cool of the following morning.

It unnerves her how comfortable she's gotten in such a sort amount of time.

As their meal finishes she retreats to the library, where she has relative peace from him. He comes and goes at first, but seems content to leave her to sort the old books, leaving her alone for hours.

She finds a few blank sheets of paper, setting them aside in a drawer of the desk. Many of the books are, as he said, magic. But she uncovers quite a few historical accounts, some old ledgers that must've belonged to the original inhabitants of the keep. Those she flips through eagerly, but she finds no names, just the usual household accounts – the comings and goings of various knights. Orders and deliveries. The most recent of dates being marked nearly sixty years ago.

Belle wonders how long the Beast has been in residence. If he has relatives in any of these written names, he looks human enough. She stores the ledgers carefully, they may not be immediately useful, but they're still important.

Nearly at the bottom of the mountain now, Belle finds a journal. Small, battered, and bloodstained embossed with what appears to be an official seal. It has a leather tie, nearly snapped, that holds it shut. Before she can open it, Ives enters the room. He's caring another armload of books, and while he's distracted she drops the journal into the drawer of papers. Casually dropping another stack of blank pages on top of it.

"Well, my dear, would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner?" He makes a gallant bow which she doesn't return. "We may even act civilized and use the dining hall."

He's a charming host, Belle can't help but compare him to the dukes, counts, and lords she's had to pay visit to. What does that say about her, she muses into her drink, that she's more at ease with this monster than the beneath the leering eyes of her peers?

That night, as he joins her in bed, she's tense once more. He lays beside her, facing her, watching her as she braids her hair. His gaze doesn't feel invasive or heavy, just curious.

"What?" She asks, as she lays down, facing him as well.

"May I?" He lifts his hand, reaching towards where her braid falls behind her.

She's unsure what his response would be if she were to refuse him, but if he only wants to touch her hair she sees no harm. So, she nods, tugging her hair forward into his reach.

Ives takes her hair in hand, carefully stroking it, twisting the loose end between his fingertips. His quiet fascination is amusing, she slowly feels herself relaxing into the soft mattress as she watches him.

The last thing she hears before she drifts off is his voice, low and soft, wishing her sweet dreams.

As consciousness leaves her with a sigh, he presses his lips to the end of her braid.


End file.
